


A Waiting Pace

by OwenToDawn



Category: inFAMOUS (Video Games), inFAMOUS: Second Son
Genre: Body Dysphoria, Gender Dysphoria, Generational Trauma, Internalized Transphobia, Internalized racism, Multi, Polyamory, Racism, Two-Spirit
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-29
Updated: 2020-11-29
Packaged: 2021-03-10 05:41:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,927
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27779284
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OwenToDawn/pseuds/OwenToDawn
Summary: He turns around and looks at her, lips pressed together in a thin line as he holds his hands by his side, curled into fists. She’s reminded of a time their positions were reversed, when all her secrets had been spilled out before him and he’d looked at her when she was still scared and angry and willing to fight him and had offered her kindness instead. He looks like she did then. She looks down at his torso, takes in the scars on each side along his pecs. It answers a lot. She’s met people with similar scars, and a lot more who wanted them.“Come to bed,” she says.
Relationships: Delsin Rowe/Abigail "Fetch" Walker, Delsin Rowe/Eugene Sims/Abigail "Fetch" Walker
Kudos: 14





	A Waiting Pace

**Author's Note:**

> A few notes
> 
> 1) This pic is personal - I was talking with a friend about writing about our own identities from the perspective of someone who loves us but does not share our identities and thus this fic was born
> 
> 2) I trashed the Akomish name, which is a fake tribe, and used the Duwamish, which is the actual main tribe in the Seattle Metro area
> 
> 3) This fic deals with internalized hatred on a trans level and racial level, and draws on my own experiences
> 
> I really wanna write something like this from Delsin's perspective in the future, maybe after I replay the game again. I think there's a lot to explore and I miss this fandom. 
> 
> Title from Waiting Pace by Data Romance

Fetch flops down on Eugene’s bed and sighs, loud and drawn out. Across the room, Eugene hammers on a key on his keyboard and on the monitors, she can see his unit dealing a flurry of attacks to his opponent. She sighs again. More key smashing is the only answer she gets. She inhales, loud enough to be heard and finally Eugene pauses the game and turns in his chair to look at her, irritation obvious on his face.

“What,” he says.

“Don’t be like that,” she says. “I’m not even here about me, I’m here about Delsin.”

“Oh. Okay.” Eugene uncrosses his arms. “What is it?”

"Does he ever let you like, I don’t know, touch him naked?”

“Oh my god-“

Eugene starts to turn away but Fetch melts to neon and rematerializes in his lap, grabbing his hands before he can reach for his computer.

“I’m being serious!”

“I thought we agreed not to share sexual details about our shared boyfriend,” He says, wiggling ineffectually in an attempt to get free.

It’s cute, she thinks, that he’s the strongest conduit in the world but he’d never dream about using his powers against her for anything against his will. She holds fast until he gives up with a huff and deflates back into his chair.

“I know we agreed to that, but I’m actually starting to get worried,” she says. “And I wanted to make sure it wasn’t just something he did with me before I approached him about it, that’s all.”

Eugene leans back in his chair and looks up at the ceiling as if praying to some higher power to deal with her. She likes that she has that effect on people. “You’re not…wrong. He’s done a lot of stuff to me, but he never takes off his shirt or pants and never lets me touch him below the waist. Which is _fine_.”

At the last word he levels her with a glare, and she releases his hands to hold her own up in mock surrender.

"I know that, I don’t want to pressure him into something he doesn’t want to,” she says. “But like…we all have issues we need to work through. I don’t mind never doing anything other than having him eat me out until I can’t move-”

Eugene squawks out a disgusted noise and she pinches his side in retaliation. They’ve known each other long enough that she knows his disgust is almost entirely feigned just to fuck with her. It’s no secret he used to have the biggest crush on her after they first freed Seattle.

“-but like if it’s something more serious I want him to tell us,” she says. “And it feels like it is.”

“Do you want to talk to him together?” Eugene asks.

Fetch shakes her head. “If we sit him down at the same time, he’ll get spooked and clam up.”

“Good point,” Eugene says. “So…”

“I’ll bring it up first,” Fetch says.

It makes sense if it’s her. She has more life experience than Eugene at the end of the day, has met more people and been around all sorts of different situations. Whatever is behind Delsin’s behavior, it’s unlikely to throw her off, which means it’s also unlikely she’ll end up saying something rude on accident. Eugene has a habit of…not thinking before he speaks. It’s what made him lose his crush on her so fast. They were just way too different, even if they shared a lot of history. And a boyfriend.

Whatever. It’d be fine.

-.-

It was not fine. In fact it was so not fine, Fetch left the house Delsin used to share with Reggie and went to seek out Betty. The moment she’d brought it up, Delsin’s face had flushed with something – anger or embarrassment she wasn’t sure, and then he turned to smoke and vanished and by the time she got outside he was already long gone. Going and finding Betty isn’t about violating Delsin’s boundaries. She just…needs an idea of what exactly she set off.

She finds Betty in the fish cannery office just as she’s locking up. When she turns and sees Fetch, she doesn’t even seem surprised, just rolls her eyes and grabs the cane she’s taken to using ever since Delsin removed the concrete from her legs.

"Everywhere I turn it’s either you or that Eugene showing up with that puppy dog look and I know it’s trouble. What did you do this time?” she asks, but despite her words she sounds affectionate.

"I’m just worried about Delsin,” Fetch says. “Not to get too…detailed but without like, telling me why, can you tell me if there’s a reason Delsin won’t ever take his shirt off? And if it’s like…bad?”

Betty looks at her for a moment, expression thoughtful, and then turns to head for the exit to the cannery. “I wouldn’t classify it as bad, no. There is a reason, and it is deeply personal, and it is certainly not for me to tell, but if you are worried about perhaps some past physical violence being done to him, no, there’s nothing like that. If he reacted poorly when you asked, I wouldn’t worry too hard about it. He’ll tell you when he’s ready.”

Fetch sighs as she catches up with Betty and then holds the door open for her as they leave together. “Thanks. I don’t wanna like, pry, or violate his boundaries or whatever, I just wanted to make sure he’s like…he was okay.”

“I will say there is more to this issue than you might be capable of understanding,” Betty says. “And there are certain things he may not feel comfortable sharing with you considering you are not Duwamish. I expect you will respect that.”

“I will,” Fetch says. “Thanks for letting me bother you. Do you want me to drop you off at home?”

Betty waves a hand at her, dismissive. “I have no interest in traveling at the speed of light, I’ll leave that to you two. I like my feet firmly on the ground, thank you.”

Fetch laughs and steps away. “Thanks Betty. Have a good night.”

“Of course, dear.”

She does make sure Betty gets back home safely, from a distance, and only then does she make her way back to Delsin’s place to wait for him. He’s not there when she arrives back, so she checks the calendar on the kitchen fridge to make sure it’s not Eugene’s night to come by, and then gets ready for bed. Maybe it’s a little weird the way they share Delsin like divorced parents. It’s easier on Delsin that way though.

Maybe she and Eugene just share too much history, or are too different, but it’s almost impossible for them to get along for longer than a few hours, so this was the solution they’d come up with. It works, for the most part. Now though, she can’t help but wonder if it’s maybe contributing to some of the mess that they now find themselves in. Perhaps part of the problem is Delsin feels torn between them.

It’s not like her to get this worked up over hypotheticals. She wraps herself in blankets that smell of Delsin and falls asleep cuddling his pillow.

She wakes up to Delsin stubbing his toe on the end of the bed and hissing out a curse. She rolls onto her back, hand pulling the cord for the beside lamp and watches as he freezes where he is, glancing at her for just a moment before his gaze slides away again.

"Hey,” she says, voice rough from sleep. “Coming to bed?”

“Maybe,” he says. He tugs off his beanie, still looking at her. He wrings it between his hands and then tosses it towards the laundry pile in the corner of the room before turning his back to her.

She watches him strip out of his jacket and hang it over the desk chair, the pins on the chest clattering against the wood. Then he grabs the back of his black t-shirt and tugs it up over his head and tosses it towards the laundry pile as well. She doesn’t avert her gaze. If he didn’t want her to see, he wouldn’t do it, and it’s just like him to just do this instead of talking to her beforehand.

He turns around and looks at her, lips pressed together in a thin line as he holds his hands by his side, curled into fists. She’s reminded of a time their positions were reversed, when all her secrets had been spilled out before him and he’d looked at her when she was still scared and angry and willing to fight him and had offered her kindness instead. He looks like she did then. She looks down at his torso, takes in the scars on each side along his pecs. It answers a lot. She’s met people with similar scars, and a lot more who wanted them.

“Come to bed,” she says.

Delsin releases a breath, looking up at the ceiling for a moment and then doing the thing where he bounces on his feet when he’s got too much energy. When he still doesn’t come towards the bed, she sits up. She shoves the covers aside and crawls to the end of the bed, leaning out and grabbing his hand to tug him closer. He goes tense she rests her hands on his hips, but he doesn’t pull away when she leans up to kiss his jaw. She kisses it again, and then again, quick things until he leans down and presses his lips to hers.

“Change into something other than jeans and get in here with me,” she says against his lips. “I’m cold.”

"Demanding,” he says, and the teasing note in his voice sounds like bravado but she’s more than willing to indulge it.

She flops back onto the mattress and watches him tug his jeans off and then kicks his shoes away too before finally, finally, climbing into bed with her. He doesn’t seem to know what to do with his hands, as if not wearing a shirt suddenly changes things. Maybe it does for him. Either way, she lets her thoughts stay in her head and turns out the light again and then rolls onto her side away from, an invitation for him to spoon up behind her like he normally does.

In the darkness, it must be easier for him to be brave. His hand slides over her abdomen along the soft fabric of her tank top as he presses against her, tight, almost clinging to her. He’s never held her like this. Never held her close, never let every inch of their bodies mold together, but now he doesn’t have anything to hide. She has questions, but she remembers what Betty told her. Any questions can wait until Delsin is comfortable.

For now, she’ll just enjoy his arms around her.

-.-

“It’s not just that I’m trans.”

“Jesus Christ, Delsin!”

Fetch whirls around, hand instinctively clutching at her chest. She’d been mid stroke in some neon art on the alley wall that the windows of a half-way house for young girls looked out to. They were gone on an outing, but she’s been coming for weeks, leaving artwork for them to see. It’s not just for them though. It’s for their caretakers to know someone’s watching. Still, it’s the last place she expects someone to come up behind her. Delsin steps forward and then stops.

“Sorry, I should’ve…I’m just…nervous? Fuck, I can’t believe I’m nervous, it’s not like it’s a big deal-“ 

“Hey, don’t say that,” she says. “It is a big deal if it feels like a big deal, yeah? Lemme finish this up and we’ll go talk somewhere yeah?”

She turns back to her piece, an abstract picture of birds flying across the Seattle skyline. Delsin steps up beside her and after a moment, adds his own art. The buzz of neon melting from their fingertips fills the air as they create side by side, their lines crossing over each other as they shift and move around each other. It’s a lot of work for something that will fade within a day, but still…she likes doing it. It’s something positive she can create, a bright spot in the lives of people that society spends far too much time overlooking.

“Alright, that’s good,” she says. “Come on.”

She leads him back through the alleyways and out on the other side and across the street to a small park. It’s nearly empty, and the setting sun casts the trees in a deep orange glow. They sit together on one of the park benches and in a way, it makes Fetch wonder what people would think if they saw them like this. Do they look normal? Like two young adults enjoying an evening together?

They’ve both spent so long carrying the weight of their actions, of their pasts, of their fight to free Seattle from Augustine, it’s hard to imagine anyone could look at them and not see that story etched in their bodies. But as they sit side by side on the bench and she leans into Delsin’s weight, she thinks maybe it’s become less noticeable. Maybe they do just look like a young couple waiting for the sunset.

"So, you’re not just trans,” Fetch says. “What did you mean by that?”

“I…I’m not super comfortable talking about any of it. But like…” Delsin stops again, leaning forward on his knees and bowing his head before continuing in a rush. “There’s a different term for it in our language, but the term Two-Spirit has been a catch all for a lot of us. It’s not just being trans, it’s a…cultural and spiritual thing. And it’s something I’ve always run away from, and part of that is because a lot of people in our tribe, they’re survivors of the residential boarding schools and they still hold onto these ideas that we’re wrong because of it. That Two-Spirit people are wrong.”

Fetch hums a vague noise, so he knows she’s listening and following what he’s saying. She can see now why Betty had said what she did. There’s more at play here – a long history and generational trauma that she can see exists but never truly understand. It’s not a simple as writing people off as transphobic when the reason for it is tied to a violent history of genocide and torture. And it certainly wouldn’t be her place to pass judgment.

“And I’ve always had trouble just like…being okay with being Duwamish in the first place so it’s just. It’s a lot, that’s what I’m saying,” Delsin says. “It’s not just being comfortable with my body, or being comfortable with being trans. It’s…it’s so much bigger than that and I feel like…”

He stops, his voice tight and thick with the sound of tears he’s trying not to shed. It makes Fetch’s heart ache, but she knows there’s nothing she can do to stop it. All she can do is support him. She reaches her hand out and rubs his back as he rubs his hands down his face and sucks in a deep breath that shakes as he tries to regain his composure.

“I just wanted you to know that,” he says. “I don’t know how I feel about it all, and I don’t want to talk about it that often, I just want…I just want to be treated the same as you guys have always treated me. I don’t…don’t make me feel different. Please.”

It’s a hell of a thing, asking to not feel different when they’re conduits. At the end of the day though, she’s a white woman, a cis woman, a straight woman. Sure, she’s a conduit and a former addict, but it isn’t as though every facet of her identity has been something society has treated as shameful. She knows maybe there’s a level of internalized hatred Delsin is still struggling with, but she gets that it’s not her place to point that out. She just has to give Delsin the safe space he needs to figure out how he feels about himself without judgment.

“I won’t treat you different,” Fetch says. “But I don’t want you thinking that being different is a bad thing, and I know you know that deep down even if you feel uncertain about it right now. Delsin…you’re _you_. You’re not a conformist and you never have been.”

“Being nonconformist makes it easier,” he says, turning his head to look up at her. “If I choose it, it hurts less when people treat me like shit for it.”

“Now that I understand,” she says with a grin. “I just don’t want you to feel ashamed, that’s all. I know it’s not that simple but…I don’t think there’s anything for you to be ashamed of, and I know Betty and Eugene feel the same. I’m sure if you think about it, there’s other friends you have that feel that way too. But whatever it is you’re feeling…you can always share it with me, okay?”

Delsin nods. “Thanks…”

She wraps her arm around his shoulder and draws him close, kissing his cheek and then holding him against her side. They sit together, side by side, until the sun sets and the glow of their art filters down the alley to light the park up.


End file.
